A Kiss Is Never Just A Kiss
by rabidkoala
Summary: Stiles and Lydia get drunk after he has a fight with his girlfriend and chaos ensues.
1. Chapter 1

He couldn't believe she'd said that. What gave her the right to-OH, right she was his girlfriend. He kept forgetting that for some reason. She was an important part of his life now, or atleast she was expected to be, and if she was exerting her importance in whatever way she deemed fit, Stiles didn't really mind. As long as Friday nights were no longer just him and his left hand, he was okay with it.

But this conclusion that he'd reached didn't undo what she'd said. He was still a little mad about the unfairness of-

"Jesus, look where you're going will you!" he snaps irately at the directionally challenged moron who'd cannoned into him in the hallway, forcing him to abandon his profound inner monologue about what a bitch his girlfriend was. The directionally challenged moron in question was now bent over, trying to pick up the stack of books she'd dropped.

"I'm really sorr-" Lydia stops when she looks up, realizing who it is. "Oh, its you." she says drily.

Stiles looks a little shocked to see her, which she thinks is kind of stupid given that they're at school.

His face doesn't settle back into its usual crooked grin though, taking on a more surly expression which to Lydia's dismay, she actually notices.

"Aww, Stilinski, Scott forget to send you an 'I love you' note today?" she asks teasingly.

"Oh shut up," he says, pouting like a kid who's been sent up to his room a full 5 minutes before his actual bedtime.

Lydia sighs.

"Okay, I'll bite. What's wrong?"

He struggles with himself for a minute, wondering if Lydia of all people is the right person to talk to about it, but caves eventually.

"I had a fight with Malia," he said dejectedly, his eyes still cast low.

Lydia groans inwardly. Actually, she's pretty sure her face has mirrored that reaction outwardly as well.

"Stiles, I _really _don't want to hear about who wants to be on top, okay. That's a lot of imagery I could do without." She says, incase her face hasn't conveyed the thought well enough.

"That's not even what it was about" he mutters but Lydia isn't listening. She's already started to say something.

"Okay, I have American History now, Stilinski. But we could go do something after school if you're still being a whiny little girl okay."

With that She walks off to class, her skirt billowing in that little gust of wind she created when she walked in her trademark supermodel on a warpath way and Stiles finds himself watching her as she disappears round the corner with the same wonder that he's always done until he realizes that he has a girlfriend and isn't allowed to stare at other girls' butts. Or swaying hips. Or green eyes. Even if they looked like the ocean after a storm. Man, this girlfriend thing was annoying as hell.


	2. Chapter 2

H二十六N二十六二十六十L

"Are you sure your girlfriend gave you permission to drink?" Lydia says mockingly as Stiles lifts the bottle to his mouth.

"Doesn't matter. I'm gonna do it just to piss her off." He says defiantly, gulping down the vodka and shaking his head to alleviate the burning feeling in his throat.

"My girlfriend sucks!" Stiles declares loudly, or atleast that's what he means to declare, but it comes out sounding more like, "Arr, Urrrrgh!"

"Easy there, tiger." Lydia grabs his arm to steady him because while he hasn't fallen off yet, the night is still young, the ground is still a good ten feet below them, and Stiles is still sufficiently inebriated. Really its just a question of when.

"So, what'd you fight about?" she tries to seem nonchalant, but she can't shake the feeling that she'd slip up and he'd know. Lydia hadn't wanted to ask, because she didn't think it was her place, but god she was aching to know why.

Plus, this was a really good time to wheedle it out of Stiles, what with him being sober enough to answer coherently, but wasted enough to not remember this conversation.

He blinks a couple of times, says huh a lot more times and makes several weird grunting sounds before Lydia decides its pointless. Just when she's given up, he answers.

"About Lyd-Lydia Martin." He slurs.

Her eyes widen. "What."

He nods as He sits up on the rock that she'd dragged him down to after she'd deemed the wall too unsafe especially since she was feeling a little tipsy herself.

"She thinks I'm not over you." he says ruefully.

She feels something stir in her stomach, but before Lydia can stop herself she's asking softly, as if someone will overhear them, even when there's no one for miles, "Are you?"

He looks up and meets her fearful gaze, and she sees something dark flit across his eyes. His expression is unreadable, but she doesn't have to look at him to guess what he's thinking, because the air around them knows perfectly well, charged with electricity and desire and an overwhelming feeling of an impending disaster.

So she doesn't flinch when he moves closer, doesn't dare to let out the breath she's been holding for what seems like hours while he considers the implications of what he's doing, his eyes never leaving hers. In the end though, he must decide that he doesn't care about the implications because he leans in ever so slightly, and that sends a wave of malicious glee through her.

When his face cannot possibly be closer to hers without contact and his hot breath is smothering her brain's ability to think, she whispers his name as an urgent warning.

She wants to say, "Stiles, don't do this if it means nothing." She wants to say, " Stiles, you can't go back to her if you do this." She wants to say, "Stiles, this is it." but all that comes out is a feeble 'Stiles.'

And he doesn't seem to care about that either, and she'd protest but she's so very tired of going in circles and pretending, because she'd thought that after a life of pretense, she didn't have to pretend with him but then enter Malia and everything goes to shit and before she knows it she's pretending again.

So she takes a deep breath, closes her eyes and opens her mouth to his.


	3. Chapter 3

H二十六N二十六二十六十L

When Stiles wakes up next morning, the only two things that hit him are i) killer headache that makes him think he might've banged his head on a wall for a whole hour and seeing as he has no recollection of the events that transpired last evening, he might very well have

ii) flashes of strawberry blonde hair and soft pink lips that tasted of vodka and- wait WHAT.

Lydia isn't at school. He's finally forced to accept the fact after searching every classroom and every hallway, asking Allison to check all the cubicles in the girls' washroom and as a last resort even sending Isaac and Scott on a sniffing spree.

He's on edge the whole day, fidgeting with any object he can find, tapping his feet anxiously and biting his nails till there's nothing left to bite, because oh god, he HAS to know. he has to know if she really kissed him, if it was really _her_ and not some wet dream or apparition. Because anything that he does from here on out, depends on what she did, and more importantly, _why _she did it.

She doesn't go to school for a few days. Because she knows that one of two things will happen. She'll either have to see Stiles sticking his tongue down Malia's throat again like nothing ever happened. Or he'll want to talk. And Lydia didn't want to talk. Because she didn't think she could say anything to him without feeling like a shitty human being for waiting 9 years for him to finally get some action and then waltzing in, kissing him and leaving a kamikaze explosion in her wake.

But she knows she can't hide out forever. And Allison gives her an ultimatum. So she shows up. But she hides in empty classrooms and deserted corridors. And runs out to her car right after the last bell without looking back.

Stiles can't drag himself to school knowing that she won't be there. He's pieced back everything he can remember about that night, but its not much and he's not satisfied. But he remembers her face, her striking green eyes, a mixture of fear and hope and longing. And he remembers the moment that their lips finally meet, and the bitter taste of vodka on her lips and all he knows is that he wants to do it over and over again. minus the vodka, of course. And he wonders amusedly just how many people have been brought together and fucked over by alcohol and if he and Lydia are the same as all the others- casualties.

So when Lydia isn't in her usual seat behind him in Calculus class and the teacher is forced to call Greenberg to do the sum on the board instead, and Greenberg being Greenberg, or rather, not Lydia Martin, fucks everything up, Stiles decides enough is enough. So he spends the rest of the class scribbling a cheesy note to stuff in her locker.

Lydia doesn't want to be found, obviously. But as the week reaches its end, so does her will power because not seeing Stiles for this long is killing her and so is sneaking around all day like James fucking Bond. Lydia Martin does not sneak around. So she decides she's so done. And she thinks of maybe calling him to end this stupid game of hide-and-seek. Especially since she's a little worried that the other player has forfeited the game.

She sighs audibly against her locker before turning around resignedly to open it and get her books out for the next class. She rummages around until a piece of paper falls out. She bends to pick it up, her heart both sinking and doing cartwheels at the same time as she recognizes the loopy handwriting.

Lydia,

I don't know what I told you that night, or if there was any talking in the first place, but long story short- Malia didn't think I was over you and I was really mad at her for implying that, but Lydia, she's right. and it took me a coyote, a bottle of vodka and a drunken kiss to realize that. I've loved you for 9 years, and I can't believe I was stupid enough to think that a coyote, however pretty she is, could fuck that out of my system. Needless to say, we've broken up. I looked for you everyday for a while, and stopped when I realized that you didn't want to be found. I've given you so much time, 9 years to be precise, and what's one more week right. Wrong. I'm sorry, but I can't wait anymore. So here I am, back to square one, hoping that you'll want me. I can only hope that you're not back to square one too.

She read it and re-read it and re-re-read it until she was sure she could recite it backwards in her sleep. She's folding the note neatly when she hears it.

"Lydia?" an uncertain voice says behind her. There's no mistaking it. its him. who else could it be?

She knows two things now- i) a kiss is never just a kiss and ii) closing her eyes and taking a deep breath before making a really horrible decision seems to work particularly well with Stiles.

So she closes her eyes, takes a deep breath and turns around.


End file.
